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<title>like butter melted in a pocket over a hot fire while hiding in the chimney by Flammenkobold</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595607">like butter melted in a pocket over a hot fire while hiding in the chimney</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold'>Flammenkobold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Flammen's Wilde Week [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Murder, Sasha returns from Rome, Softness, Teamwork, no beta we die like npcs in 174, sasha lives, this was meant to be shippy but they got stoft and non-shippy on me instead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:09:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasha is older now but not less quiet, not less stealthy, her knives not less sharp as they slice through the cultists. It’s a leftover haggle of worshippers, not more than five people still trying to do their master’s bidding, but they were surprisingly difficult to track down. Oscar recognizes at least one of them, one of those that were behind the spell that crippled him for so long and took away his magic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sasha Racket &amp; Oscar Wilde, Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Flammen's Wilde Week [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Wilde Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like butter melted in a pocket over a hot fire while hiding in the chimney</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wilde Week - Day 1 - Revenge</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sasha is older now but not less quiet, not less stealthy, her knives not less sharp as they slice through the cultists. It’s a leftover haggle of worshippers, not more than five people still trying to do their master’s bidding, but they were surprisingly difficult to track down. Oscar recognizes at least one of them, one of those that were behind the spell that crippled him for so long and took away his magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cultists are rather surprisingly easy to take down. Or maybe that is just Sasha and his combined expertise and the way they work well together. He distracts them, obscures things for them, confuses their senses, while Sasha uses the time she’s been given to cut through them like butter. She is gracious, despite the limp, quick and fast and </span>
  <em>
    <span>precise</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She looks like it too, unafraid to show off her handiwork, self-assured in her competence and herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde sings, loud and unrestrained and furious, holds them in place, drives them mad with visions, before Sasha grants them a quick end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only notices it’s over when she places a hand on his arm and raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay, mate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, looking over the corpses, satisfaction settling in his bones. “Yes,” he says, “I’m fine.” He finds he means it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still want to tell me what that was about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He points at the figure lying closest to them, a puncture wound going from the soft part below their chin up to their brain, blood trickling down their throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That one stole my magic,” he simply says and Sasha’s frown creases, understanding dawning in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now we stole his life, fair trade off I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at her, his teeth bared. “I’d like to think so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sasha pulls him in closer, one of her strong, wiry arms wrapping around his waist. Another change from the time she spent in the past, the easiness with which she touches people she is fond of. She is more open with her words too, especially when it is just the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I definitely do.” She puts her hand on the side of his face where his scar matches hers. “And no one will take your magic away again,” she promises, voice low and he has to look away from her eyes, the wrinkles around them from both age and laughter, and focuses on her hair instead, grey except where it is snow white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything, here he doesn’t need to, between the corpses of their enemies and her steady presence. The things he wants to say don’t need words and so he blinks the tears away before resting his forehead against hers, breathing her in, relishing in the fact of her having returned.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks to El for giving me ideas!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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